


Focus

by happybeans



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Delirium, Gen, Happy Ending, Irondad, Kidnapping, Light Angst, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Sexual Bondage, Tom Holland Characterization of Spider-Man, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Wholesome family vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 02:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: "Stay with me," Mr. Stark says. "We've been taken—you're the only one who can get us out of here."------------Or, Tony Stark talks a drugged-up Spider-Man through a kidnapping escape.





	Focus

Peter’s not really sure how long he’s been awake for; only that when he comes to awareness, blinking his dry eyes rapidly, it’s to the sound of Mr. Stark repeating his name.

Dry eyes. Were they open this whole time? He hasn’t been seeing until now.

“Spider-Man, come on!”

It’s really dark. Kinda grey. Cinder-block-y. And empty: Mr. Stark’s voice bounces off the walls.

“Kid!”

Peter blinks again—which only makes him suddenly hyper-aware of his blinking rate. The natural rhythm has been cut off, so does he blink now? Or now?

“Jesus Chr—Spider-Man!”

He blinks. Turns his head. Ow.

“Finally—” Mr. Stark has bags under his eyes. “Spider-Man, focus on me. Okay?” His hair is wild. Has he just woken up? Has Peter?

“Okay?”

Peter blinks. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a groan comes out. His tongue feels foreign. His blink goes for a bit too long this time.

“Hey. Hey!” Peter’s eyes snap back open. “Kid, I know this is hard, but I really need you to stay with me, you hear?”

“With me…”

“Yes, stay with me,” Mr. Stark says. “We’ve been taken—you’re the only one who can get us out of here.”

Peter’s blinking is sluggish, but his eyes don’t shut for long. Awake. He nods, not actually comprehending Mr. Stark’s words.

“Ow…” Peter mutters with the movement. His face feels tight, and he moves to touch his hand to it. Can’t. He looks down, now—ow—and sees why: he’s tied to a chair. Oh. He looks back up at Mr. Stark. Tied to a chair. Oh.

“You get what’s going on here?” Mr. Stark says.

“On here…” Peter parrots. He looks back down to his right arm. There’s something attached to it: thin tube. He follows it—ow—to a bag. IV drip. Don’t like that.

“M’arm,” he says, still staring at it.

“They’ve been putting stuff in you,” Mr. Stark confirms. “You have to take that out. Like, now.”

Peter looks up at him. Blinks. Mr. Stark’s got bruises on his face. Doesn’t his suit usually protect from stuff like that? The Iron Man suit?

“You have to take the IV out,” Mr. Stark repeats. He draws the sentence out, saying each word carefully.

Need to take it out. Take it out. Peter tries to lift his left hand, but something stops it. He looks down. He’s tied to a chair. He already knew this… Peter pulls at the leather strap lightly a couple of times. He looks at Mr. Stark.

“It’s okay, Spider-Man,” he says. He’s smiling, but he doesn’t seem happy. Why would he smile, then? “You can break those,” he continues.

“Break those…” Peter’s pulling his hand against the strap, now, and after a second, it snaps. Ow…

“Mr. Stark, my head hurts,” Peter slurs. His hand clumsily flops to the IV. Yanks it out. Numb there, doesn’t hurt. Head not numb. Definitely hurts.

“I know, buddy,” Mr. Stark says. “We’ll be out of here as soon as you enter some numbers into that keypad there.”

Peter follows where Mr. Stark’s finger is pointing. Across the room. But...Peter’s tied up? And his web-shooters are gone. His hand accidentally smacks his face when he checks, but—

“My mask,” he mumbles.

“Eyes on the prize, kid,” Mr. Stark says. “We’re going to get your mask back. First, break through those straps.”

But...Karen’s in the mask. She’s probably worried. Lonely. Whoever took her won’t treat her right.

“Karen is an AI,” Mr. Stark says.

Mind reader. Like Wanda. Tony has powers now?

“Spider-Man. Spider-man, look at me!”

Peter blinks. After a second, he looks over. Winces when his head throbs. Eye-contact.

“I really need you right now,” Mr. Stark says. “You’ve gotta try to stay focused.”

Focused. Peter nods. Mr. Stark smiles again. It’s still not happy.

“Great. Break those other restraints.”

Restraints...the leather straps. Peter tugs half-heartedly with his right hand. Break the leather strap restraints, then he can go to the keypad. Go to the keypad across the room, and…

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mr. Stark says. “I’m here to walk you through this. Focus...Start with breaking the restraint on your wrist.”

Peter swallows. His throat feels scratchy. Restraint on your wrist...The leather piece snaps when he pulls. It jars his head, which doesn’t feel good. But now he has both hands free. He moves to push himself up, but he’s stopped by a sharp pressure against his chest. It forces Peter’s breath out painfully and his back against the chair.

“Hnng…” His hands grip the leather and pull it away in front of him. When it snaps, it hits his ungloved right hand semi-painfully. Did they cut the entire right arm off of his suit…?

“You’re doing great,” Mr. Stark says, re-grabbing Peter’s attention. “Try kicking out a couple times. There’s a couple—there you go.”

Peter pauses—oh, haha, a rhyme. Wait, not a rhyme. English class, what’s this called? He knows this…But as Mr. Stark starts to say something else, Peter eyes the prize, so to speak. He pushes up to his feet, and...uh, bad idea.

_Throb._

His vision becomes spotty like TV static, and he may honestly pass out for a second. Peter’s body slams back into the chair—OW!—rattling, his head.

“-n a little slower.”

Peter takes a minute to come back, but he catches the tail end of what Mr. Stark’s saying. Peter tries taking a deep breath, but that just brings back the TV static. Ugh.

When he gets up this time, it’s slow. He uses the arm of the chair to push himself up then steps behind it to lean against the chair’s back. His vision is dark again, and his head feels like a balloon.

“M’er Stark, I feel real funny,” Peter says, while he starts to straighten up. His right hand quakes, holding most of his weight. The chair creaks under it.

“It’s whatever drugs they’ve got you pumped up on,” Tony says. “You’re okay. Try to—”

The chair crumples then, but Peter’s spidey-sense hints milliseconds in advance. His reaction time isn’t perfect, but Peter’s able to stumble forward instead of following the chair-remains to the floor.

The keypad feels hundreds of miles away from where Peter’s standing. Peter isn’t really sure how far it is in actuality. His vision is like looking down a tunnel. It might be thirty feet? Or ten?

Peter’s blinking quickly as he begins shuffling forward. Focus, Peter. You can do this. He has to stop halfway there, stumbling to the side, but he falls onto the wall not long later. Not thirty feet, then. Less.

His breath comes heavily, and his balance is way off, but now Peter has an anchor point. He sways around for a couple of seconds like a flag in the wind, fingertips of one hand keeping him attached to the wall beside the pad.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” Mr. Stark encourages. Peter’s legs feel like they’re made of the slime from those Youtube videos. “Now just enter the passcode. It’s eight-four-three-two-six.”

Peter blinks. Breathes. Focus, okay, he’ll focus.

He lugs himself up more, resting his shoulder against the wall to support his weight. Like the chair earlier. Will the wall break like the chair?

Blinks. Blinks. His left hand raises to the number panel.

“Umm…”

“Eight-four-three-two-six,” Mr. Stark repeats.

Peter’s hand is shaking. He stares at the keypad, words and numbers swirling in his brain. It’s too much. He knows these words, but nothing’s lining up. The keys look like gibberish. Peter’s breath is caught in his throat.

“Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark starts, voice strained, “I really need you to sober up for a minute here. I don’t know when those guys will be back, so I need you to get a move on.”

Everything is shaking, now. At least, all of Peter is. Even the numerical symbols on the pad seem to stretch and blur in front of him. It’s dizzying. Nauseating.

“Everything’s fine. It’s eight...four…”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter chokes out. He turns his head to look back at Mr. Stark, trying to ignore the way the pain in his head grows from the movement. “Everything’s all...confused,” Peter continues. Voice cracks. Tears well. “I can’t—I don’t—”

Mr. Stark turns his head to look behind himself quickly then turns back.

“You’re fine,” Mr. Stark reassures. “You’re fine. Take a deep breath. I’m sorry—I overwhelmed you. Just breathe for a second.”

Peter tries. Even his lungs are spasming. Blinking. Blinking. His eyes burn again.

“We’re going to take this slow, okay?” Mr. Stark says. He waits a moment, gives Peter time to draw a shaky breath in. “You ready?”

No. Peter nods. Mr. Stark smiles, and Peter looks back to the jumble of numbers.

“The first number is eight,” Mr. Stark says. Peter stares, finger hovering over the keys. Eight. Eight. Eight. He knows this, he knows this! It’s so simple, why can’t he…?

Okay. Focus. Find your focus.

Oh. Alliteration.

That’s the word from English class.

Definitely, that’s it.

It’s…

8.

“That one,” Peter mumbles, finger clicking into the key with incredible gentleness. Peter winces when a harsh Beep! sounds from the system, but Mr. Stark seems calm. Only loud to Peter, then.

“Good job, just take it slow,” Mr. Stark encourages. “The next one is four.”

4… It’s a lot quicker to find this one. Peter swallows before pressing the key. Beep! God, his head hurts.

“3...”

Peter scrubs a hand over his face. He re-adjusts against the wall, shoulder taking more weight. Beep!

Peter can hear Mr. Stark turning to look behind himself again, but there’s nobody in there with them. Yet.

“The next one’s 2…” Tony says, voice sounding further away. His head is still turned, probably.

Peter’s spidey-sense rings out just as Peter falls through the wall. He lets out a growl that becomes a groan and then a whine as his head _throbs_.

“What is this place made of?” he gripes. “Hay?”

He pulls himself up, knocking a couple more cinder-blocks to the ground on the way up. They shatter harshly against the concrete floor. By some luck, the part of the wall holding the keypad managed to survive.

Once Peter’s back up, he stares at the numbers again. He blinks once. Twice. Then: Beep!

Mr. Stark laughs, an emotion Peter can’t comprehend at the moment blurring it.

“You’re doing just fine, kid,” he says. “The last one is 6. Then we’re getting out of here.”

Peter swallows then swiftly presses into the button—please, _please_ let it be the right one.

Beep!, click, _click, click._ There’s a deafening bang of metal, then the rush of repulsors from across the room.

When Peter turns around, he sees an Iron Man suit lasering the bonds off of Mr. Stark.

Peter lowers himself to the floor, finally sitting down, while he tries to catch his breath. Suddenly, the adrenaline he didn’t know he’d had rushes out of him, leaving him weak, nauseous. Blinking. His eyes lose focus, but he can hear the metallic clanking of Iron Man crossing the floor.

Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s hand, and Peter allows himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“I’m proud of you,” Mr. Stark says from behind the mask, and Peter can hear his smile. An honest one.

Peter’s blinking, trying to force back to awareness, but Mr. Stark pulls him into his arms.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You did your part.”

Peter’s blinking slows down until his eyes fall shut.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Stark says.

And Peter falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I kept thinking throughout this story how funny it would be to see Peter unable to hold back with his powers. So we've just got this drugged-up, super-powered kid stumbling around, accidentally smashing chairs and walls like he's in a little dollhouse or something. For Peter, that's probably how everyday life feels.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. I appreciate it a lot. If you liked this, please take a second to let me know in the comments. I've been writing a bit for Spider-Man lately, but I don't publish most of what I write. I might take the time to post more often if people enjoy it, thought. 
> 
> Thank you again for giving this a read. Have a nice day, folks.


End file.
